Dali's Dilemma

Everything becomes dream-like.
Clocks melt under the sun,
and ants nibble the fluid time.
In the distance,
burning giraffes canter about in a panic,
bashing into – then breaking apart –
elephants on stilts-like legs.

Orbs spin about him,
flashing and twirling,
mirages in their depths.

They are graceful
yet menacing.

Alive with a purpose that
only they know.

Everything fluxes.

Time, he can’t tell.
Has he been there for ten minutes?
Or ten months?
Time can’t be defined.
It can’t be held.